Sincerely, S Holmes
by AGKeesee
Summary: Told by James Watson, the only son of John and Mary Watson. Life had been quiet in London for 20 years until a series of killings following children's fairy tales starts up randomly. And when James meets the daughter of the missing Sherlock Holmes, they work together to solve the mystery, the one thing Holmes said she would never do again. T for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"Sincerely, S. Holmes"

My life used to be normal, until I met her.

I had a very standard childhood. I lived with my mum, dad, and two drooling English Bulldogs, in a nice home on the outskirts of London, away from unwanted traffic. I knew from a very young age that I wanted to become a doctor like my father, which I am proud to say that I easily achieved. Finding a job at St. Bart's hospital inside the city was even easier. In fact, that where it all started, at St. Bart's.

My name is James Watson, and this is the story of how I met the woman who changed my life forever, and her name was Scarlett Holmes.

"Good morning, James, dear," said my mother, Mary Watson, as I walked into the kitchen one morning.

"Good morning, Mum," I said, kissing her on the cheek then shoving a piece of toast in my mouth.

"Aren't you at least going to sit down to eat?" asked my dad sitting at the table with his newspaper.

"No, I can't. I really must be going. I'll be home for dinner." I grabbed my coat off the hat stand next to front door, and I was gone.

"He's so much like you used to be, John," said Mary laying down a late of eggs in front of her husband. "Except he's missing that not-so-little something."

The commute to St. Bart's has always been a long one for me. I had to walk about a mile into the city before I was able to hail a cab; which wouldn't seem too bad if it weren't for the sickly view. The shortest route in which I walked, I only passed old moldy buildings that appeared to be falling apart from the outside in. So I left home early today so that I could take the longer route through the easier on the eyes part of the city.

But as my walk continued I found another reason as to why I don't come this way more often. Baker Street. Baker Street was nothing much, just a bunch of old flats clustered together on either side of the street. I hated going down this way because it gave me a strange feeling, like I had been here before. Baker Street was ghost, a ghost that I didn't remember but somehow it wanted me to. It was here I decide to call a cab. Once I got one, I looked back at the empty sidewalks of Baker Streets and had a strange feeling I was being watched.

I walked into the hospital, anxious to just get into my office. I got in the elevator and pressed the button that would take me to the 4th floor.

"Hold that door!" cried a nurse, just as the steel doors began to close; I was just quick enough to catch them before they shut. A pretty blond nurse got into the elevator beside me. "Sorry about that."

"No problem, um, Charlotte?" I couldn't believe that I had forgotten her name; I had watched her many times around the building. Wow, that didn't sound stalker-ish at all.

"Oh, please, Dr. Watson, call me Charlie," she said smiling. I was almost shocked that she even knew my name. We stood in awkward silence, until the elevator stopped on the third floor to let Charlie off.

"Wait, Dr. Watson," she said suddenly.

"It's James."

"Right, James, I've seen you around here a lot and I was just wondering if maybe you would like to go out sometime."

I stared at her longer than I should have, for in truth, this was the first time the girl had asked me out. "I would love to."

"Great!" She took out a pen from her pocket and grabbed my hand. "This is my number, call me later."

"Alright, I will," I said as she finished writing the number on my palm. She then left the elevator and the doors closed behind her.

Once inside my office I logged onto my computer. Suddenly, there was a knock at my open door.

"May I come in?" It was Dr. Molly Hooper who worked downstairs in the morgue. She had worked at St. Bart's since before I was even born, she said that she used to be friends my dad.

"Of course, Dr. Hooper," I said. She walked in and sat down quickly in the chair in front of my desk. She looked at me for a long time before actually talking.

"I was wondering, James, if you could do me a small favor and take on a patient I had scheduled coming in today."

"Sure," I said a little unsure of myself.

"Fantastic," she said handing me a file from across the desk. "Her name is Mrs. Hudson. She a bit older for you but very sweet; she called in the other day saying she needed her hip checked on. Well, I must be going, bodies to cut open you know."

"But you just got here!" I called after her, but Molly was already out the door and down the hall. This 'patient' transfer rubbed me the wrong way, mostly because Molly didn't take on real ill patients, unless they were already dead.


	2. Chapter 2

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson, my name is Dr. James Watson," I said when the old woman who shuffled into my office later that morning. "I'm sorry, have we met before? Your name is very familiar."

"No, no, I don't believe we have," she replied. Her voice was very shaky. But I guess mine would be too if I was approaching my 80s and had an artificial hip.

"Well, then let's get started," I said. I cleared my throat and prepared to begin the long list of questions that would outline every detail of every medical issue you have ever hard.

"Wait, would you mind if we hold up for a moment," said Mrs. Hudson. "Just until my granddaughter gets here."

"Of course, ma'am," I said as I leaned back in my chair. I took notice that the whole time we sat there in silence, Mrs. Hudson was staring at me. She kept muttering something under my breath about how tall I had gotten. My day kept getting stranger. Then, I heard the sound of running footsteps coming from down the hall. Someone ran past my door and doubled back.

"Oh, my God, Mrs. Hudson! The hospital called me and told me that you were in a car wreak and I come to find that you are perfectly fine! What's going on?" said the person in my doorway. I stood up from chair. It was the old woman's granddaughter. She was incredibly tall with black wavy hair that came down to her shoulders. The girl wore dark jeans with a long overcoat with a worn out blue scarf wrapped snuggly around her neck. If you were familiar enough with the Sherlock Holmes, you would have guess that this was his daughter, because I had no clue at the time.

"Oh, nothing at all, sweetie!" said Mrs. Hudson as she stood up. "Now if you will excuse me." Mrs. Hudson just walked past the girl and out into the hallway.

"Mrs. Hudson!" the girl and I called at the same time.

"They set this up," she said. "Damn."

"What?"

"Nothing," she sighed. "She's not coming back."

"I'm sorry, what's your name?" I asked.

"Holmes, Scarlett Holmes." Scarlett held out a hand, and I took it.

"Dr. James Watson."

"Nice to meet you; sorry to dash to I have to go find my 'grandmother.' I would call that pretty, blond nurse tonight if I were you." Scarlett turned out the door and went down the hallway.

"Wait! How did you know about that?" I called after her but it was too late, Holmes was gone. I flopped back down in my rolling chair, scratching my head. _Holmes,_ I thought. _I've heard that name before. Holmes._

The morning went by slowly. My head hurt and I felt dizzy, and with that I decided to leave early. I walked out the front door of St. Bart's without looking back. _I need tea._ I thought. I walked down the street to a small café that sold my favorite brand of tea. I bought my drink and sat down at my usual table in front of the large window. The café was empty so all I had to keep me company were my throbbing thoughts and the whirring sound of the ceiling fans.

I rubbed my temples and closed my eyes; the soothing steam off the tea floated out of my cup and filled my nose. I felt like I was going to be sick. Suddenly, three police cars flew past the windows in a blazing furry. Following them were two ambulances and a fire truck. My sickness slipped away as I felt the urge to chase them. I grabbed my bag and flew out the door leaving my hot tea on the table behind.

"Why am I doing this?" I said out loud to myself as I ran through the streets pushing people out of my way. I finally caught up to the emergency vehicles; they had all parked in the middle of the road in front of the new bank. Police officers were herding on lookers away from the scene.

I decided to risk it. I shoved my way through the thickening crowd to the bank steps that were beginning to line with yellow tape.

I covered my mouth; a young woman with bright blond hair wearing a blue dress lie dead on the steps. Blood from the lady's bashed in head trickled down the stone steps in a cascading fall . A single white shoe was all the remained at the top of the stairs. More police officers stood huddled together looking at something on the ground. I couldn't see from my point of view, so you could say that I kind of cheated.

I ducked out of the crowd and snuck along side a fire truck. Once I was around to the cab of the truck I took in my surroundings. The cops stood around a message, written in blood. It was hard to see, but I read the words; "FIVE MINUTES TILL MIDNIGHT." I backed away slowly; this was too much for me.

I ran as fast as I could away from the people and the bank. I needed to be alone. I needed to be away from here. I ended up running through the park. No one was there because they were all where I just was. The trees were frosted over and the leaves began to fall into piles beneath them. For some reason I couldn't stop running. I didn't stop until my body slammed into some else and I fell flat onto the cold sidewalk.


	3. Chapter 3

After a while, I finally managed to sit up, "Oh my God, I am so sorry," I said to the person I had just completely ran over. "Wait, Scarlett? Is that you?"

Scarlett Holmes propped herself up on one elbow and she covered her head with the other hand. I quickly stood up and tried to help her to her feet.

"Are you hurt?" I asked noticing she hadn't removed her hand away from her forehead.

"It's nothing, just a little cut," she responded stiffly.

"Let me see it," I said, pulling her hand away. Her forehead was cut just above the left eye and blood trickled into her eyebrow. "Come over here so that I can clean that up." I pulled her by the hand to a wooden bench off the path. I kept a small first-aid kit in my bag. Hey, don't give me that, 'you're a doctor for God's sake' look. First-aid kits come in handy. I took out a small rag and poured water on it from a tiny water bottle. I then gently dabbed it over Scarlett's cut.

"That stings," she hissed.

"Don't wine, this will help it from getting infected," I said.

"You really keep a first-aid kit in your bag?" she asked sarcastically.

"They come in handy!"

"Shouldn't you be at work now?"

"This is working."

"You saw the bank, didn't you?" I didn't respond. I just threw away the bloody rag and took out a bandage.

"How did you know about the nurse this morning?" I asked trying to get the conversation away from the homicide.

"I didn't know, I noticed."

"What?"

"And let's just leave it at that," she said firmly.

"Alright, all done," I said after I had slipped the band-aid on top of her cut. "Again, I'm so sorry about running into you. Is there any way I can make it up to you somehow?"

"Just try to forget about it," she said. Scarlett stood up, tightened her blue scarf and walked away without another word.

That night, I had trouble eating. I sat at the table staring at my food without having even picked up a fork.

"What's bothering you, James?" asked my mother.

I decided to swallow it and tell them. "I met this girl today and her name was really familiar."

"What was it, son?" asked my dad taking a sip of his wine.

"Holmes." My dad spit his drink out and my mother dropped her silverware with a clang. "What? Do you know her?"

"John, we should tell him," said my mum.

"Tell me what?"

"No, Mary, I won't let him get into that kind of trouble."

"I saw a dead woman today!" I shouted. My parents shut up and stared at me. "Yeah, I said it. I was at a scene where I saw a woman with her head bashed in and a note written in her blood. No one has been murdered in London for 20 years! Since I was like 4 years old! Then suddenly I run into this girl with a name a barely remember? Now drop the crap and tell me who the hell Holmes is!"

My mum and dad stared at me in shock; I was actually shocked at myself for saying all that. My dad pushed his plate away and took a deep breath. "Sherlock Holmes was a great man and at one point, my best friend. And I'll bet that girl you met, Scarlett, if remember her name correctly, is, in fact, his only daughter."

"If he was your best friend what happened to him?"

"We had a small falling out."

"Small, dear, you bought this house just to get away from him," said mum.

"As I was saying; when I became engaged to your mother, I told Sherlock that I needed to retire from detective work."

"Wait, you were a detective? You never told me that, dad," I said.

"That's another stories for another time, son. Anyway, I knew that if I kept doing what I was doing with Sherlock, it could, at some point, cost me my life or Mary's. Sherlock wasn't at all happy about it but I left anyway. We didn't speak again until six years later; just after you turned four. He called me saying that he was sorry that he finally understood why I left the business."

"Alright, so he apologized and you became friends again?" I asked.

"Yes, then I went to meet with him at our old flat and discovered what had made him come to his senses."

"What was it?"

"His newborn daughter, Scarlett Holmes. At first I couldn't believe that he could even have children but there she was. He told me that her mother had left them. Suddenly, Scarlett was the only thing on his mind, the apple of his eye and holder of his heart; Sherlock Holmes, one of the greatest minds of our generation, had become retired."

"I still don't understand. If you two became friends again, how come I haven't seen him around?"

"Because he went missing, James; around the time you were seven. Sherlock just disappeared without a trace. Many said he died but no body was ever found. But others, very few others, say that he's still alive somewhere."

"Including you?"

"Including me. I watched him die once, James. I know he's not dead."

"What happened to Scarlett after Sherlock disappeared?" I asked.

"She went under the care of Mrs. Hudson, our land lady on Baker Street. Though technically, I am her Godfather."

"Wait did you say Baker Street?" I had no idea why this question came out before the Godfather thing.

"Yep, 221B Baker Street."

My head started to spin again. "If you'll excuse me." I got from my chair and went upstairs to my bedroom. Once up there, I closed the door and took out my laptop. I searched 'Sherlock Holmes' to find newspaper articles and stories covering crimes that he, with the shocking help of my dad, had solved. I even found a website of his which hadn't been updated in years called 'The Science of Deduction.' I stayed awake for hours into the night reading from the lit screen, and it still didn't make sense to me. How the hell could anyone tell an airplane pilot by his left thumb? I even found an old blog by John Watson on cases they had done together. I read and read until my alarm clock went off at 6 in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

I stumbled into St. Bart's after my night of stalking, much like would have if I had a hangover. Dark rings clouded my eyes and my hair was a mess, but I didn't care, there was somewhere I needed to be. I got into the elevator and went downstairs. I walked into the morgue to see Molly Hooper looking over the body of the girl I saw at the bank yesterday. I stood in the doorway thinking about turning back.

"Oh, James, you startled me!" Dr. Hooper squeaked when she turned around to see me.

"Sorry, so, uh, what happened to her?" I asked jerking my head towards the body.

"Grab some latex gloves and I'll show you."

I did as I was told and left my bag outside in the hallway. I washed off my hands and slipped on the gloves. Molly grabbed the edge of the body bag and pulled back the cover. The smell was absolutely disgusting and I flinched at the gory sight.

"I forgot that you aren't used to this," Dr. Hooper said. The pale woman lie with her eyes closed on the slab with a circular gap in the skull on the right side. "She died by getting hit on the head with a blunt instrument and hard if that."

"The fall didn't kill her?" I asked.

"No, if the fall had killed her, there wouldn't a hole like this one. There would mostly be scratches and bruises; she would have died of internal bleeding more than anything."

"Wow, I can't believe you do this for a living," I said. "What does it feel like?"

"What do you mean, James?"

"There hasn't been a single murder in 20 years, Dr. Hooper, and you blast all this out of the water in what, a minute?"

"I used to this a lot."

"Like when Sherlock Holmes was still around?" Molly almost dropped her clipboard at the mention of his name.

"I see your dad told you about him."

"Well, you did set me up with his daughter yesterday. Let me guess, it was you that called Scarlett telling her Mrs. Hudson was in a car crash?"

Molly looked away. "You two needed to meet."

"Why?" I protested.

"James, did you really think that London could go crime free forever? It was a matter if time before something like this happened, and you and Scarlett, I believe are the only two that can figure this out."

"I'm not like my dad, I can't solve crimes and I certainly can't save anyone's life."

"You're a doctor, you save lives every day!"

"But not this way," I said firmly. We stood in awkward silence.

Molly let out a deep breath. "I've helped Mrs. Hudson take care of Scarlett ever since Sherlock left. She needed an extra hand but I realized, James, Scarlett needs someone like you, not me. I'm not saying fall in love with the girl, but help her. Scarlett is a locked up safe of emotion and she needs someone she can work with."

"I hate to break this to you, Dr. Hooper, but I'm not a therapist." With those last words, I left the morgue. I picked up my bag and went to the elevator.

I was mad and I couldn't understand why. I felt like throwing something, like screaming. But I swallowed it and went through my work. I finished everything at around 4 o'clock. I began to pack up my things when it started to drizzle outside. Rain splattered on my office window in tiny droplets. I was in the elevator when Nurse Charlie came in. She was angry and I wasn't in the mood. I prayed that she wouldn't talk to me. But her bitterness bubbled over.

"Thanks, for calling me last night, Dr. Watson." Ouch, last name, she really was mad.

"Look, I was busy last night, I didn't have the time."

"Oh, well, I'm sorry for being such time-consuming burden!" I was actually surprised that she did not slap me as she stormed off into the rain. I turned up my coat collar and walked to the curb, hoping I could grab a cab.

Police cars darted by, suddenly, driving through a puddle and soaking me in even more raining water. There were more than yesterday; six cars to be exact. I watched as an ambulance came racing out of the hospital parking lot. A cab finally stopped for me, but I let it go.

_Damn it,_ I thought, as I started running through the rain towards the commotion. I saw from about a block away where the cops and the ambulance had stopped in front of a hair salon. I knew that I would not be able to see from the road; I could never get past all of those cops. I went down the alley and snuck to the back door, which was already opened.

I came into the shop through a supply room. I inched my way forward from behind unopened boxes of combs and hairspray. My ankle touched something cold and metal. I looked down to see a pair of polished scissors lying hidden in between to boxes. It also stuck me that where I was now, was the perfect viewing angle of the crime scene.

Another young woman sat dead in one of the chairs in front of the mirror. Her throat was slit and her hair was short and choppy, as if someone had buzzed all of it off. There was a note written in blood on the mirror that said; "LET YOUR HAIR DOWN." I brought out my camera phone and took a picture. I then back out the way I had come, shuffling very slowly so that the police officers didn't hear me.

Once I got back onto the street, I hailed a cab. One stopped for me and I climbed inside. I looked at the picture on my phone very closely, taking in every detail.

"Where to, sir?" asked the cabbie, snapping me back to reality.

I sighed and shut my phone. "Baker Street, 221B."


	5. Chapter 5

I pounded on the door of 221B Baker Street. When the door finally opened, it was Mrs. Hudson.

"Hello, Dr. Watson, how can I help you?" she said sweetly.

"Good afternoon, is Scarlett here? This is kind of emergency," I said quickly.

"She's just up the stairs, dear."

"Thank-you," I said brushing past her and darting up the stairs. The door was open so I walked inside. The main room was cluttered with books and papers. Two small armchairs sat in front of a warm fireplace which acted as the only light in the room. I noticed a new violin sitting in one chair and an old, dusty violin on top of a bookshelf. A target was hung on the wall with arrows sticking out from in. Then, out of nowhere, an arrow comes straight at my head. I ducked and hit the floor, looking back up I saw the arrow had entered the wood of the door frame about an inch away from where my head was.

"What the hell are you doing here, Watson? Actually, I know why you're here, there's been another murder. but that still doesn't act as an excuse," said Scarlett. I struggled up and saw her across the room coming out of the shadows. She had a quiver belted across her back and bow in her hand. This was actually the first time I had seen her without her coat and scarf. Scarlett kept her dark jeans, black riding boots, and a black form-fitting tank top.

"How did you hear about the murder? The woman was killed only 45 minutes ago," I said.

"Hey, idiot, my eyes are up here," she said, and I snapped my eyes up. Scarlett unbuckled the quiver strap and laid it, along with the bow, on the small couch against the wall. "And way else would you come here if it weren't for another murder?"

"Look, let's me just get it out, I know who your dad was," I started.

"And I know who _your_ dad is," said Scarlett getting in my face. "Also, don't you dare talk about my father like he's gone." She turned and went into the kitchen. I followed her.

"My point is, people are dying very bloody and I think you are the only one in this whole city who can help them, Scarlett."

"People die every day, it's the natural order of things," she said.

"It's natural for a woman to enter a hair salon to get her hair trimmed and end with her throat slashed?" I took out my phone and held up the picture of the dead woman. Scarlett stared at the screen with her eyebrows pushed together.

"If you are anything like your father you will help me track this killer down," I said.

Scarlett turned her back to me. "And who said I'm anything like my dad? Who says I even want ,?"

"I think you do, Scarlett," I almost whispered. "That's his scarf that you wear isn't it? You've kept it all these years to stay close to him. You love him and he loved you."

"He never loved me! He made me into a freak that can see every little detail in a person by just getting a single glance! He left me, James!" Scarlett shouted. I saw a tear in her eye but she held it back.

"You and I both know that that's not true," I said. I needed to talk to her; I needed her to know that she's just as much as freak as I am.

"Then tell me where my father is," she spat.

I stood there awkwardly. "I get it, you feel lonely and lost and confused; I may never know what it's like to lose someone like that. But you have to understand that you're not alone. I'm here aren't I? If I was at all like normal people, do you think I would still be here after you shot at my head with a real arrow?"

"I didn't shoot at it, I shot near it." She smiled and I laughed.

"That's the first time I've actually seen you smile," I said.

"Well, we have only met two times and one out of the two you ran me over."

"Hey, I said I was sorry about that," I said. We stood alone in silence. "Scarlett, innocent women are being killed and unless we work together, they will continue to die. Please, Holmes, I'm begging you."

Scarlett looked at me. "The murders are based on children's stories. So far, Cinderella and Rapunzel have already been done."

"The quotes?" I pondered.

"The quotes are lines, fragments, from each story. 'Five minutes until midnight,' that's when Cinderella had to leave the ball before she turned back into a maid in rags. 'Let your hair down,' is what the witch said when she wanted Rapunzel to let down her hair so that she could climb up into the tower."

"Alright, that makes sense," I said leaning against the counter. "But are there any clues that could tell us what insane person could have done this?"

"Not person, James, persons. There are two involved," said Scarlett putting a kettle on the stove.

"What?"

"I didn't see it until you showed me the picture of the newest homicide. The window was wide open with people always walking past it, they would have had to kill her, cut her hair, and write the message in a least under a minute. One person cut her hair, while the other slit her neck and wrote the message in her blood. So, if I were you, I would prepare for trouble."

"And make it double." We laughed for a few solid minutes before we could pull ourselves together. "Alright, murder isn't funny," I said wiping my eye.

Scarlett poured herself a cup of tea. "Do you want one?"

"I'll have to skip it, I got to get home," I said.

"You're in your twenties and you're still living with your parents?"

"I'm only 24 and I never said anything about my parents."

"That's sad."

"Oh, shut up," I snapped.

"See you tomorrow," Scarlett said sipping her tea.

"Wait, so does this mean that we are working together?" I asked hopefully.

"Just go home, Mama's boy." I'll take that as a yes. I grabbed my jacket and my bag and left out the door. Old Mrs. Hudson met me at the bottom of the stairs.

"Thank-you, James. She needs someone to talk to," she said sweetly and handed me a jar.

"Is this jam?" I asked.

"Tell your father that I miss him," she said. I tucked the jam safely in bag and pulled up my collar to face the rain.

"I will," I said and headed out the door. I called a cab and the entire ride home I kept thinking to myself; _what the hell have I gotten myself into?_


	6. Chapter 6

_John sat by himself in front of the fireplace. He was waiting for James to return home. Sadly, he knew where his son was; he could never ask for his own blood to stay away from that place. But as he waited longer and longer his mind began to go back. Flashback: 24 years ago._

"I can't do this anymore, Sherlock," said John Watson quietly.

"What do you mean by that?" Sherlock Holmes spat from the window.

"I mean, I have to retire. No more crimes and no more detective work."

"Why? What could be so important that it ends our partnership? Is it that woman?"

"That woman is my wife, Sherlock!"

Sherlock stormed bitterly across the room. He stopped in the kitchen with both his hands firmly on the wooden table. "Why now, John?"

John got up from his chair and walked slowly into the small kitchen. "I'm actually surprised that you can't tell."

Sherlock looked up at John, his face hot. His eyes scanned the short man up and down. In frustration he gave up and looked away.

"I've bought a house outside of town; Mary and I are moving in less than a month," said John.

"Tell me," Sherlock hissed. "Why are you leaving me? I mean, here. Why are you leaving the flat?"

"Sherlock," John sighed.

"I need your help, John. I always have."

"It's not like we are never going to see each other again!" protested John.

Sherlock looked away from his friend.

"Alright, I'll tell you. This job is dangerous and I don't want Mary getting hurt."

"The two of you have been married for two years now, why the sudden attachment?" asked Sherlock, his temper was starting to rise again.

John made Sherlock look him in the eye. "Sherlock, Mary and I are having a baby."

It had been four years since John had last seen Sherlock or had even walked past Baker Street. But he thought about it every day. Every morning, John wanted to pick up his phone and dial his number; invite him for coffee or an outing. Then he would smile at the thought of Sherlock's definition of an outing. He could never bring himself to do it.

"Daddy?" snapped John back into reality. His son tugged on his jacket sleeve. He was sitting in the den, in his favorite chair. John looked down at his boy and smiled; he rubbed a hand through James' messy hair.

"What wrong, James?" he asked. John picked him up and sat him in his lap. "It's getting late, you should be in bed."

"I had a nightmare," James answered in his young, shy voice. He cradled his favorite stuffed blue dragon in his arms; he couldn't sleep without it.

"Now we can't have that now, can we? What happened in this nightmare?"

"A mean man broke into our house."

"That was rude of him wasn't it? Did he do anything to you?"

"He took William," said James, pointing at the English bulldog puppy sleeping on John's slippers in front of the warm fireplace. John smiled at his son's imagination; he hugged him tightly.

"I don't think anyone wants to take that dumb dog." James giggled. Mary walked in from another room.

"What's so funny?" she smiled. Suddenly, the phone rang. John looked up at Mary then at the clock. Who would be calling so late?

Mary picked up James from his father's lap as John answered the phone. "Hello?"

"I understand, John," came a quiet deep voice from the other end.

"Sherlock?" asked John in shock. Mary's eyes widened, she quickly carried James back upstairs to his bedroom.

"I understand," said Sherlock again, this time almost in a whisper.

"Sherlock, is something wrong? Where are you?" Millions of questions raced through John's head at the sound of his old friend's voice but these were the most instinctive.

"I would rather show you, John. Can you meet me?"

"Of course, give me an address," said John beginning to get a pen from the side table.

"St. Bart's; please get here quickly." Sherlock hung up the phone.

"John, dear, what's wrong?" said Mary reentering the den. John got up and looked her in the face. He kissed Mary on the lips softly and left out the front door without another word.

He ran into the city; all the way to St. Bart's. John's heart was beating faster than it had in years. He finally made to the front doors of the hospital when he saw someone very familiar in the lobby.

"Mrs. Hudson?" John called to a woman. Mrs. Hudson was sitting in a chair crying but she managed to smile at the sight of John's face.

"Dr. Watson, it's been too long," said sobbed.

"Mrs. Hudson, what's wrong? Has something happened to Sherlock?" John's voice cracked. It hurt him to think of Sherlock lying in a hospital bed fighting for his life. But she couldn't answer him, she just nodded. John turned to the front desk. "Ma'am, I'm looking for Holmes."

The young woman looked up at John slowly and began to type on her computer. "Room 134; down the hallway to the right." John ran in the direction that was pointed out. He dodged patients and doctors through the slick, clean corridors. Finally, he came to a closed-door that read: 134. John took deep breaths trying to stay positive. _He has to be alright,_ he thought. _This is Sherlock Holmes, damn it._ His hand met with the door knob and he turned it.

"Sherlock?" he called.

"Shhhhh," responded Holmes. John was shocked to find that the hospital bed was empty and made; his tall friend stood in front of an open window. A light, warm breeze floated in from outside, waving the white curtains.

"Sherlock, what's going on here?" John whispered.

"I understand," was all that was said.

"Understand what?"

"Why you left, John. As of tonight, Sherlock Holmes is retired."

"What?" John was confused and, honestly, a bit scared. "Why?"

Sherlock turned from the window and John nearly collapsed. In his arms was a sleeping newborn baby, wrapped in a soft pink blanket.

"John, I would like you to meet Scarlett." Tears reflected off Sherlock's cheek bones; he was able to give a half-smile. "My daughter."

Watson had to sit down in the chair in the corner of the room. Sherlock gently sat on the bed, keeping the child close to his body as he tucked the knitted blanket a bit tighter. John's heart pounded even harder than when he had ran across the city. He began to massage his temples.

"Where's the mother?" asked John minutes later.

"Gone; she said she doesn't want anything to do with me or Scarlett."

John looked at Sherlock. A sudden realization struck him. "Oh my, Sherlock, you managed to sleep with Irene Adler? It was her wasn't it?"

Sherlock said nothing. "I'm sorry for everything I said, John."

"I forgave you a long time ago, Sherlock," smiled John. He got up and walked over to his friend. "She really is beautiful. Thank God, she doesn't look like you." The two laughed.

"I wanted to ask you something; will you be Scarlett's godfather?" John was taken a back.

"Of course, I will."

"What is it like being a father, John? Can I really do this?" asked Sherlock. His voice was shaky. John looked at him, this was the first time he had ever seen Sherlock scared, and he wasn't just scared, he was absolutely terrified.

"Well, think about it this way; take that feeling you get every time you solve a crime. Think about how you feel when you deduce something and when you know that you saved someone's life. Now, take that feeling and multiply it by a hundred. That's what it feels like, Sherlock. Each time you watch her carry out something and just when you look down at her, that's the feeling that you get. When you look into Scarlett's eyes you will feel like you can do anything, and with her, you actually can. Nothing is and never will be the same a when you look at this child; she's yours, only yours, and nobody can ever take that away from you."

"I don't think I can handle all that."

John put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Don't worry; I know you can."


	7. Chapter 7

I walked in late that night to find my dad fast asleep in front of the fire. I didn't have the heart to wake the old man up. I covered him with a blanket a crept upstairs to my room.

The next morning, I got up early. Dad wasn't in his chair and something told me he wasn't even in the house. I almost felt bad about not telling my parents what I was up to, but my father had felt this business to protect my mum and me. That kind of just blew up in his face.

I went out the front door to find a cab waiting outside. Scarlett leaned against the door.

"About time," she said.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Picking you up; we've got to get to work. Get in," she said opening the door. My head was still stuck on the fact that she knew where I lived, but I got in any way. As soon as, I sat down, the cab started rolling. Scarlett was looking down at her phone.

"Where are we going?"

"You ask a lot of questions, James," said Scarlett. "To visit some old friends of dad's. So where's your father gone this early?"

"How did you know he wasn't a home?" She didn't answer. "Alright, how did you know about the nurse a few days ago? And that I had seen the murders?"

"I don't know; I noticed." She sighed.

"How do you just notice something like that?"

"Lots and lots of questions. You read my father's website," she said. I looked at her and she looked at me.

"What I read is impossible," I retorted.

"Yet here we are." This had two meanings but I only understood it as we made it to our destination. The cab had stopped, outside Scotland Yard. Scarlett got out without another word and I followed.

I had never been inside this building before. The lobby was filled with men and women in suits carrying briefcases. A large security guard stopped us inside the door.

"I.D.," he puffed.

"Of course," said Scarlett as she reached inside her coat. She pulled out a single card and held it up the man's face. He stared in shock at the piece of plastic.

"Holmes?" he muttered. Suddenly, everyone in the building stopped and stared at us. Scarlett looked down at the floor, she pushed a curl of her hair behind her ear. She was actually embarrassed.

While the guard continued to stare, Scarlett brushed past him to the stairs.

"Wow, your dad really did make a name for himself," I said.

"Yes, the Holmes were the ones for making a name."

"Wait, did you just say ones? As in more than one?" I asked.

"I forgot, you don't know my uncle." Scarlett sighed.

"Who's your uncle?"

"You'll find out soon enough." I was getting sick for Scarlett's little cliff-hangers. I got it. She was an awful past and a strange sort of family but really? If we were going to work together, I kind of needed to know these things.

We finally made it the top floor, where we wondered past cubicles and closed office doors. Scarlett went straight up to a door and reached out to the doorknob. I barely got a chance to read the name on the door before it flew open. DONAVAN.

A woman sat at a desk writing on a piece of paper. "I asked to not be disturbed," she said, then she looked up and gasped. "My God."

"It's been a while, Donavan," said Scarlett.

"You're _his_ kid aren't you?" the woman said standing up. "Should have known; you look just like him."

"Scarlett and this is James Watson," said Scarlett. I held out a hand, but Donavan ignored it.

"I can't believe they let you two in here."

"You mean after what happened to Lestrade?" Scarlett asked.

"Don't you dare use that on me."

"What deduction? I didn't; I heard my share of the late officer."

"Excuse me, but who the hell is Lestrade?" I butted in.

"The man who was in charge of this place before Donavan," answered Scarlett.

"What happened to him?" I asked.

"This girl's dead-beat for a father got him shot," hissed Donavan.

"What the hell did you just say about my father?" A cold, evil glare shot from Scarlett's eyes.

"Hey, stop it," I said. I grabbed her arm thinking she may lash out. "Ms. Donavan, we here about the murders, right?"

"Right," Scarlett confirmed.

"Why should I give you two this information? As far as I know, could just be a couple of crazy kids."

"Did you know that there are two murders?" asked Scarlett.

Donavan stared at her, then crossed her arms. "No."

"Did you know that the murders are German?"

"No."

"Did you know-?"

"Alright, I get it!" Donavan yelled. "You are just as good as Sherlock!" Suddenly, the phone rang and she answered. "What? Where?" I looked at Scarlett who gave me a cocky smile. She held up five fingers and began to count down. As soon as her last finger went down, Donavan hung up the phone and looked at us.

"How old are you, Holmes?" she asked quietly.

"20."

"Alright," Donavan grabbed a gun from her desk and clipped it to her belt. "You're coming with me."

"We'll follow you in a cab."

"Now, I didn't say he could come along."

"Hey, it's a two or one special. It's both of us or nothing."

Donavan sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine, just keep up."

As we marched down the halls of Scotland Yard, Donavan hand-picked a group of men and women to follow us. We exited the building and got into a cab while the cops jumped into their own squad car.

"So how did you know that the murders are German?" I asked.

"Well, I was going some research, and the stories come from the original Grimm fairy tales story book that was written in Germany in 1812. So if my findings are correct we should be jumping straight into 'Little Snow White.'"

"So another woman?"

"More than likely."

"Scarlett, could there be a chance that-?" I trailed off. _That's stupid_, I thought. She noticed that I stopped talking and looked at me. I looked back into her beautiful green eyes.

"No idea is stupid, James. What were you saying?" She asked. There was a sudden sweetness in her voice. I laughed at turned my head out the window, my face hardened as the cab came to a stop.

"Oh no," I breathed. Scarlett rushed out the door. The police were taping off a day-care center. She ran under the tape and dashed through the glass door which had been smashed in. I ran after her, my boots crunching on top of the shattered glass. I found Scarlett in the door-way of a class room. Her hand covered her mouth and nose.

I was right a young woman sat in a rocking chair. Her face was pure white and her lips the second darkest shade of natural red I had ever seen. The first being Scarlett's. A huge silver dagger was sticking out from her chest and blood stained her yellow t-shirt. But the most disturbing, were the children. Seven kids around the ages of four lie dead on the carpet. Their small faces were deep purple and their eyes large and blood-shot. The large bay window was closed and on the inside was written, "WHO'S THE FAIREST OF THEM ALL?"

Donavan entered the room and stood beside Scarlett and I. "Damn," was the only word the escaped her lips. Scarlett swallowed hard and slowly glided across the room to a little girl on the floor. She knelt and turned the child's face so that it looked up at her. Scarlett bit her lip; she then reached up a hand and closed the girl's eyes.

"They were poisoned," Scarlett reported.

"I've never heard of a poison that could work this quickly and have this kind of effect," I said.

"That's just it, James. This poison took time." Scarlett stood up and walked over to a small table cluttered with paper and crayons. She picked up every other crayon and finally rubbed her hand across the surface. Scarlett brought her fingers up to her face and sniffed. Her eyes stared to water. "Is there a trashcan in this room?"

I looked around the room. "Here's one by the door." Scarlett hurried over and began to rummage through the trash. After a few minutes, she pulled out several juice boxes. She touched the end of a straw and sniffed her finger again. This time, she coughed.

"What was Snow White poisoned with again?" she asked.

She held a box to my face. My jaw dropped. "That's just cruel," I said. The children had been drinking apple juice.


	8. Chapter 8

"Alright, I'll want these sick sons of bitches put down like a sick pet," Donavan raged. The three of us stood outside the day-care centre as paramedics carried way the 'Snow White' and her 'Seven Dwarves.'

"I agree," said Scarlett. She tugged on her scarf. "And I think we can help, but I need all the information you have on this case."

"Everything we have will be sent to your flat. You are still living in that rat hole, aren't you?" asked Donavan.

Scarlett didn't answer, and Donavan got the hint. Nothing was said after that. We watched in dead silence as the last child was put into an ambulance. Scarlett and I turned from the scene and called a cab. Soon, the cab rolled up to the frosted curb.

"Wait!" Donavan shouted. She raced up to the cab where Scarlett was standing with the door open. "Tell me this, Holmes; what was with the silver dagger?"

"In the original tale, the evil queen wanted the huntsman to kill Snow White with a silver dagger and bring back her heart in a box. But the huntsman couldn't do it because she was too beautiful, so he brought the queen a pig heart inside the box."

"I knew that," Donavan said putting her hand on her hip. "I just wanted to see if you talked as cocky as he did."

Scarlett had enough; she sat down in the car and slammed the door. I said good-bye to the officer and got in on the opposite side.

"That was rude," I said. Scarlett didn't answer me. She bit her finger and looked out the window, the sun had set and it had started to snow. Her face was very pale and her red lips glared brightly in the beam of the streetlights. Suddenly, she coughed harshly, but Scarlett didn't look at all shocked. She took an inhaler out of her coat pocket and brought it to her mouth. Scarlett pushed the button and breathed in deeply.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm fine," she said.

"I'm sick of this," I busted out.

"Sick of what?"

"You, Scarlett! You're hiding important things from me about this case and about you. Why won't you talk to me?"

"I can't talk to anyone, James. ! They all just say 'Oh, you'll get over it,' 'Suck it up,' 'There's nothing that can be done to help you.'"

"I would never say those things to you," I said quietly looking downwards at my hands. She looked at me. "At least tell me what that's for; I am a doctor." I pointed to the inhaler still in Scarlett's hands.

She took a deep breath. "When I was about five or six, I was in an automobile accident. The wreck killed everyone in every car, it should have killed me. My car had flipped, I was pinned down and, unknown to me then, my lung had collapsed and was full of shrapnel. But a bystander managed to pull me out and got me to a hospital. The doctors did all they could but I have these little 'attacks' that pain my chest, and if I ever lost this inhaler, I could die."

"Did you ever get a look at the person who saved you?" I asked.

"All I could see was a male figure before a blanked out."

"Oh."

"Yeah." The rest of the ride back to Baker Street was quiet one. The sidewalk was completely covered in a thin blanket of white snow. I walked up the door with Scarlett. She stared at me for a while before looking away. "James?"

"Yes?"

"Your right," she whispered.

"About what?" I turned to head to face her.

"If we are going to work together, I need to tell you things. But it's just hard."

"Why is it hard?"

Scarlett swallowed hard. "When my dad, um, left, I didn't like talking. Children my age thought I was a freak, and truthfully I was. They went home to their mums and dads every evening and together they would sit at a table and eat and talk about how their days were. When I got home, I was alone. Nobody was ever there for me tell how my day went."

"What about Mrs. Hudson?" I asked.

She cracked a painful smile. "Do you tell your grandmother, who thinks you are the most perfect kid in the world, that you are getting picked on at school because you can see when one of your classmates is getting a new puppy for Christmas when it's September?"

"I guess not. So that's why you don't talk, because you're afraid of getting called a freak again?" The cab turned down Baker Street and I never got answer. "I know how that feels, Scarlett."

"What?" She obviously thought I was lying.

"I knew from a very young age I want to be just like my dad. I wanted to be an amazing doctor and save lives. Now, image on the first day of primary school the teacher asks what you want to be when you grow up and the kid next to you answers a superhero." I laughed. The memory was funny to me now. Scarlett smiled too. "Scarlett, don't you ever feel like you're alone. It's not really your area." She looked up at me suddenly as if my words reminded her of something.

Inky black sky was folded over London by the time the cab pulled up on the curb of 221B Baker Street. A told the cabbie to wait for me as I walked Scarlett to the front door. She bit her lip as she slid the key into the lock.

She turned to face me. Her black curly hair and her eyelashes her sparkled in tiny white spots of snow. "You know, these roads can be kind of dangerous at night and the ice doesn't really help. Why don't you, um, stay here tonight. I have the room it's really no trouble."

I stared at her, my mouth a little a jar. "Well, I shouldn't risk my safety now should I?" Wow, that was corny. But I flagged the cab to go on and went with my partner inside.

"Would you like something to drink?" Scarlett asked once we were up the steps and into the flat.

"Tea, would be nice," I answered.

"Well, then you'll have to make it yourself." Without another word she turned down the hallway and into a bedroom. The door shut behind her. I sighed and went to the kitchen. _I will make it myself,_ I thought.

Moments later, I sat down in a chair in front of the fire with my cup of hot tea. The door down the hall opened and Scarlett came out into the living area. I am not going to lie, I was a little shocked by her appearance. She wore nothing but a short, skin-tight sleeping gown and a thin robe. Her face had been washed and her hair brushed lightly on her shoulders. This was the first time I realized that Scarlett Holmes did not wear any make-up, her face was just that perfect.

"Is something wrong, James?" she asked taking the seat opposite me. She crossed her legs and picked her violin off the stand beside her. She plucked dreamily at the thin strings.

"Not at all," I stuttered. "So, Scarlett-"

"No," she said harshly before I could even make out my question.

"You didn't even know what I was going to say!" I protested.

"You were going to ask me if I had a 'special someone' in my life. But the answer is no."

"No do what question?"

"No to you, James." She looked me dead in the eye. "This can't happen between us."

"Why not?"

Then she did something really unexpected. Scarlett took a hold of wrist and sat down in my lap. "We are business partners. Nothing more, do you understand?"

I nodded.

"Tomorrow you will make up with that little nurse and go on a date with her," Scarlett said.

"But-" I began to protest. I didn't want the little nurse, I wanted Scarlett.

Her finger moved over my lips. "Please don't. I'm a horrid, destructive flame, James, and you know what happens when you touch a flame?" Scarlett's hands tucked under my chin and she kissed me. She actually kissed me. On. The. Lips. She released me and whispered in my ear. "You get burned."

She stood up and walked down the hallway. Scarlett stopped in front of her door. "There are fresh sheets on your bed." She turned the door knob and went to bed without another word.


	9. Chapter 9

_Molly Hooper sat at her desk in St. Bart's empty morgue. The hospital had closed hours ago; it was only Dr. Hooper and the decaying bodies. Her eyes were damp and red, but she was smiling. She held a picture frame in her smooth palms. Flashback: 20 years ago._

Molly stood in the flat cradling the newborn Scarlett in her arms. She hadn't stopped crying since she woke up. "Shhhh," Molly soothed. She had tried everything else in the book.

Suddenly, Sherlock Holmes walked in through the doorway. "Hello, Molly," he said hanging up his coat and scarf. He didn't even acknowledge his crying daughter.

"Thank goodness your here, Sherlock," Molly puffed. Sherlock only looked at her kindly. He walked over and took Scarlett in his arms. As soon as she was against his chest, she stopped crying immediately.

Molly smiled. "Of course, she's such a daddy's girl." Sherlock took the baby down to her nursery in what used to be John Watson's bedroom. Molly followed. He lied Scarlett down in her white crib. The baby's little hands reached up to the swirling mobile above her head.

"Thank-you again for looking after while I was out, Molly," said Sherlock.

"No thanks needed. I love staying with Scarlett," said Molly. "Where were you anyway?"

Sherlock looked away, biting his lip. "Just out," he answered quietly. He looked back into Molly's face than back to Scarlett. He sighed. "You are the only thing she will ever have to a mother."

"That's a compliment to me, Sherlock. It always has been." Sherlock walked Molly to the door where he helped her with her coat. "So will I see you and Scarlett tomorrow?"

"Defiantly," said Sherlock. "I will never be able to repay you for all that you have done. Good-bye, Molly." Sherlock did something he had only done a few times in his life. He bent down a kissed Molly on the cheek.

One year later, Molly woke up in her flat and smiled. It was a special day. She got dressed as normal and just as she was about to walk out the door she remembered something. Molly hurried back into her bedroom and rummaged through her closet. She checked the top shelf and dug through dusty boxes. Finally she got down on her knees and crawled to the very back of the tiny room. Molly found a small black bag on the floor and lifted out. She unzipped the bag and inside was shiny camera. It had been a gift from her sister and was still partially untouched. She put the camera back into the bag and carried out the door with her.

About ten minutes later the cab let Hooper out at Baker Street. She trotted up the front steps and let herself in. Molly entered the flat to see Sherlock was Scarlett on his knee. The child looked beautiful with her pale face, red lips, and black curly hair coming in thickly.

"There's the birthday girl!" Molly exclaimed. She picked up Scarlett and swung her through the air, Scarlett giggled the whole time. Sherlock was even smiling. "Where's Mrs. Hudson?"

"Preparing a 'surprise,'" Sherlock said sarcastically.

Molly rolled her eyes. "That's right it's a surprise, so at least act that way."

Minutes later Mrs. Hudson emerged from the kitchen with a birthday cake with 'Happy First, Scarlett!' written on it in green frosting. The company sat around the living area watching Scarlett smear the sweet dessert on her face. Molly was constantly wiping off her face.

There were no gifts, to her surprise but she knew Sherlock too well. As soon as she would return the next day there would be a new toy in Scarlett's arms. Before long, Scarlett has asleep in Sherlock's arms. A question has been pulling on Molly's jumper since she had woken up this morning.

"Why didn't you invite John, Sherlock?" she asked.

"He has his family and I have mine," was the only answer she got. The smile showed though, Sherlock had meant_ she_ was a part of his family. "You two are family. Deep down you still love him like a brother more than you love your real brother."

Sherlock found it hard to respond. _If only she knew the truth,_ he thought. _If only I could tell her about the deal I made._

"I'm sure he could have found it in his day to just stop by," Molly continued.

"I'm sure he could," he said. Molly knew she really couldn't argue any longer. Sherlock stood up and took Scarlett down the hall. After a while he didn't come back.

"Sherlock?" Molly called quietly as she too stalked down the hallway. She pushed the nursery door open farther. She covered her mouth. Sherlock had fallen asleep on the small couch that had been put in there a new months ago. His head was propped on a stuffed bunny and Scarlett lie asleep on his chest. A tear flooded Molly's eye but it didn't fall out. She dashed quickly back to the living room.

Molly took the camera from its black case. She crept back through the flat, and took the picture. That day she got the filmed developed and framed. Everyday since, Molly looked at that picture and everyday it was he constant reminder that Sherlock Holmes and his daughter had at one time been human.


	10. Chapter 10

I stayed up late that night. I had finished my drink and strolled into the guest bedroom about ten past midnight. The soft light green covers had been pulled back and the white pillows fluffed nicely. The room was bare except for the small desk in front of a window and a huge stack of cardboard boxes in the corner.

My head spun and my lips still tingled from Scarlett's sweet kiss. What had she meant by 'you get burned?' Did she really like me that way? Did she really want me to keep my distance from her? I admit to you, I really, really like Scarlett but my mind will never say that I loved her. I do not love Scarlett Holmes. Maybe if I did see other women then I could get over her and we could continue to be partners. That's what I really longed for: her partnership.

After a while of pacing the room, I got nosey. I took the box on the top of the pile and placed it on the bed. The box was sealed, so let's just say that the wind blew it open. Inside was a single photo album and a brass key. Strange for such a large box. I picked up the small key and twirled it through my fingers. It was smooth and surprisingly, warm, as if it had been used not too long ago. I put the key back in the box and grabbed the photo book.

The very first page had a large picture, that nearly took up the entire page. There stood a tall man with short curly hair and an angled face. In his arms a little girl, no older than two years old. The girl wore a white dress that made her own black hair stand out. They both smiled at each other with a kind of love that only a father and daughter could share. I knew the faces immediately, it was Scarlett and Sherlock. They next few pages were filled with the two, hugging, smiling, laughing. It was beautiful. But suddenly, Sherlock Holmes seemed to grow scarcer and scarcer as the pages turned. One picture made me stop.

Scarlett, at about three or four years old, stood alone on the front stoop of 221B Baker Street. She wore yet another white dress but her hair, tied back in a pony-tail, was longer, and thicker. It was raining in the picture. She looked sad just staring out into the fog. Scarlett wasn't even looking at the camera.

I turned the page and watched Scarlett grow up. There was a photo of her off on her first day of school, and another of her pulling back an arrow on a bow at age seven. But, knowing me, I found another picture that made me stare. Scarlett stood in the middle of a park with a floor-length dark blue gown. Her hair was pulled back and her flawless face smiled. There was another boy in a suit and bow-tie standing with his hands on her hips. I assumed this was before a high school dance.

The pictures stopped there. But a lingering question loomed in my mind. Who took these pictures? Your mind may jump to Mrs. Hudson, mine did to at first. There was something, something about how the pictures were taken that made me doubtful. As far as I knew she didn't have a mother around but hell what did I know?

I put the book back in the box and sat on the bed alone. Finally, I turned off the light and nested myself in the covers. I had only been asleep about ten minutes before Scarlett burst through my door and turned on the light.

"James!" she shouted. "Are you awake? Of course you're awake! James!"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I grumbled.

"I know where the killers are going to strike next!" she continued to yell.

"What? How could you possibly know that?" I questioned.

She ran back out the door and return within a few seconds. Scarlett tossed a book at my face, which, thank God, I caught. I read the title; 666 GRIMM FAIRY TALES, in bloody red letters. I didn't even want to know where Scarlett got this book. "They are no going by every down the list of stories in order! It's a different pattern!" She sat down next to me and took the book from my hands. she turned to the table of contents. She had highlighted a number of titles in yellow. "What was the first murder?"

"Cinderella," I answered.

"Correct, and see here. Cinderella is the first story in the book. Now what was the second murder?

"Rapunzel."

"And that's the second story listed. That's why I thought it was going in order. But look a this," she ordered and I obeyed. "The thrid killing was Snow White, which is the fourth story."

"It skipped three?" I observed.

"Its doubling, James." I gave her a strange look. She rolled her eyes. "What's one plus one?"

"Two."

"What's two plus two?"

"Four. Oh, I see now."

"Very clever, since there are two of them they are doubling." I took the book back and skipped to the eighth story.

"So you think the next you will involve the "Twelve Dancing Princesses?'"

"Yes."

"Where are the killers going to find and kill twelve dancers and not get noticed?"

"Here," said Scarlett as she handed me a printed out piece of paper. I read it out loud; "'The London Institution of Art presents: The Players' Masquerade Ball.' What does this have to do with anything?"

"Keep reading," said Scarlett.

"'Featuring the Ruby Family Dancers,'" I read.

"Abigail, Bella, Crystal, Dani, Ellie, Flora, Ginny, Hazel, Iris, Jewel, Kelly, and Lacey Ruby are twelve dancers that just so happen to be sisters, from Sweden. They are making their first performance in the United Kingdom and week from tonight, and unless we are at that ball it might as well be their last."

"Did you memorize all those names?" I asked.

"James, that's no the point."

"How are two people going to kill twelve women when they are performing in front of the most artistic geniuses of our generation?" I snapped.

"I have a few guesses," Scarlett shrugged. "But we have to do something."

"How are we supposed to get in?"

"I have, you could say, inherited a lot of eyes and ears all over the city. Trust me, James, we can get in. Why are you being so reluctant? I thought you wanted to put an end to this."

"I do!" I said. "But I can't-"

"You can't what?" I looked down as the blood rushed to my cheeks. Scarlett stared at me. "You can't dance," she concluded. This was a statement not a question.

I wanted to get away from the subject. "Well, I think I've deduced something of my own."

"Enlighten me," she drawled.

"The killers are siblings."

"I know."

"What?" I was shocked. "How did you know that?"

"Two famous figures that would be involved in fairy tales. Hansel and Gretel; they are most likely brother and sister."

"Wow, and for once I was starting to feel smart."

"You are smart," said Scarlett but I detected a bit of sarcasm in her tone. She picked put the dance flyer. "What do you say James? Will you go out with me to catch a killer?"


	11. Chapter 11

I guess you could say I had a pretty eventful week leading up to the night of the ball. I went out to dinner with the nurse. It was fantastic by the way, thanks for asking. I also had to get a custom tuxedo and face mask made.

Mrs. Hudson was very passionate about the suit and mask. She was actually the one who took my measurements, and the whole time she kept mumbling something about the color red. I pushed it aside only hoping that the tux wouldn't be bright red.

Before I knew it though, I was buttoning the jacket of a deep black tux. I stood in the den and the fire was blazing. Scarlett had gone with Mrs. Hudson to put on her dress. I was face to face with a mirror attempting to tie the damn bow tie choking my collar.

"Damn," I cursed after my index finger that gotten stuck in the knot for the sixth time. Mrs. Hudson finally emerged from Scarlett's room and shut the door behind her.

"How many times is that?" she barked. She pushed against the wall and took the black tie off my neck. "And what is this? You are not wearing a black tie, young man." She threw the tie in the chair and took a small box from the end table. Mrs. Hudson open the box and inside was a silk red bow tie. It was magnificent in the glow of the heart. The landlady swung the tie around my neck and tie perfectly on the first try. After this was done, she took a red rose from the vase in the kitchen and placed it in my blazer pocket. "There, now give us a spin!"

I did as I was told and walked around in a slow circle. Mrs. Hudson smiled and pinched my cheek. "Forget James Watson, dear! Tonight you are James Bond!" said sang. I really starting to enjoy the old woman, she seemed like family to me. "Scarlett, get out here!" she shouted.

"I look ridiculous!" Scarlett's voice shouted back.

"You look beautiful, now you get your tiny little butt out of that room!" I heard a deep irritated sigh, and the door knob turned.

Scarlett was wearing a black flowing floor-length gown, and there was a slit in the skirt that traveled all the way up to her upper thigh. The dress was strapless but she had a red laced shawl hanged from the crook of her arms. Not much could be down with her short curly hair but Mrs. Hudson had tamed it into a slick bun with a single black coil framing her face. A single, matching, red rose was pinned to the bun.

I could help it, I stared. For a long time. To make it worse, I didn't even speak. Mrs. Hudson took notice of the silence.

"Oh, wait, I forgot something!" she said. Mrs. Hudson shuffled out of the room and down the stairs. She quickly popped back up carrying a dusty black and red box that was tied shut the silky black ribbon. Mrs. Hudson gently untied the knot and opened the lid very carefully.

Inside were two masks. The first one was larger, obviously mine. It was black and only covered half the face, it was the darker vision of the Phantom of the Opera's mask. The mask's partner was a deep, blood-red that, once put on, would cover both eyes and the top of the face. My mask had thin red vines that flowed through the surface forming thin images of flowers. Scarlett's was the opposite with black vines connecting all over the face to make flowers. To put it simply, the two face masks were made for each other in every possible way.

Mrs. Hudson put the red mask on Scarlett's face and tied it in the back with black ribbon. I picked mine up and put it to my face. The sculpt was perfect. Scarlett finally turned to face me.

"Well? Say something, you been quiet this whole time!" she said.

I found it hard to make out the correct words. All that came out when I looked at her was; "Best. Bond-Girl. Ever." Suddenly, the door bell rang, meaning that out ride was here. Scarlet just rolled her eyes at me.

"We'll be back late," she said to Mrs. Hudson. Scarlett bent down to kiss the elderly woman on the cheek.

"Take all the time you need, dear. Just make sure to stop those killers."

I followed Scarlett down the stairs and out the door. Our cab wasn't as fancy as some of the other ball goers. Some rode in limos or fancy short cars. Once we arrived a short, plump man opened my door and another man opened Scarlett's. I quickly got out and helped her out of the vehicle. She took my arm and we walked up the large stairs of the gallery.

The ball room was huge. And I mean about so huge that you could fit two three-ring circuses in there. The ceiling was tall and the string music bounced off the pure marble floors. Two grand stair cases on either side of the room led up to a long landing that made a balcony around the entire room. Small tables and brass chairs lined the outside of the dance floor and on the balcony. Men in black, white, and gray tuxedos escorted woman dress in every color imaginable to the dance floor or secretly through a closed-door upstairs.

As we entered, Scarlett got some stares. She looked downwards and got closer to me. I knew instinctively, that Scarlett felt as if she was being judged.

"Where are we supposed to go?" I asked.

"We have to somewhere we can see the whole place," she said.

"Upstairs?"

"Too obvious."

"I know the perfect place," I said. I held Scarlett's arm as I made my way to the floor.

"What are you doing?" she asked. She almost shocked.

"Why are you so afraid? Last time I checked I was the one who couldn't dance," I said.

Once on the floor, I twirled he around and took hold her waist. I pulled her close. Awkwardly, she put her hands on my shoulders. We were about the same height but she still had to look up at my face. The string band played their own rendition of "The Way You Look Tonight." Couple around us dance to the song up I had the feeling that they had their hawk-like eyes on Scarlett and I.

Scarlett's eyes, however, hadn't left my face. They had grown in the last few minutes. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"N-nothing," she stuttered quietly. "It's just-never mind."

"It's just what?" I pressed. Just then the song ended with the long, drawling notes of the cellos and violins. Everyone let go of their partners and clapped as the band took a bow.

The conductor turned and took a microphone. "Now, if everyone will please clear the floor, it is time for our very special guest." We moved together off the floor and took two chairs at the closet table possible.

Twelve beautiful women, of all ages, in pink dresses took their places on the marble floor. The string band pulled their bows across the instruments and show started. I glanced over to Scarlett whose eyes were turned to the stairs. Someone had just arrived.

A man and woman of equal age glided down each of the stair cases. The woman wore a dark, emerald dress with a white fur shawl over her shoulders. Her white, blond hair was pulled into a bun and was swirled with what looked like poison ivy leaves. The man had the same white blond hair and wore a suit so green it was almost black and was accented with a white bow to match the woman's shawl. He carried a long black cane. The couple's masks both covered one half of their faces. The woman's covered the left side and the man's on the right. They were both emerald-green and on white sticks.

Scarlett's jaw dropped. She was scanning them. "James?"

"Yeah?"

"The killers are here."


	12. Chapter 12

"How can you possibly tell?" I whispered urgently. I never doubted Scarlett but I needed to know for sure.

Scarlett looked into my eyes. "I don't know, James. But you have to trust me. There is something about their faces, the way they move together. It's like I've seen it before. Those are the killers." Her tone was almost frightened and frantic. But I agreed with her, I had seen their fox-like faces before.

"Alright, what do we do? I can't just tackle them in this crowded space," I said quietly.

"They want a cover. There is no way they could kill these sisters without some kind of chaos," she said. The couple in green had made it down the stairs. The man twirled his cane in his hand as he took the arm of his partner. They never sat down, but instead, hovered around the wall on the edge of the floor.

"They want chaos. They need a cover if they want to pull off this murder."

"So we don't create chaos, got it."

"But once the dancers are finished with the performance, everyone will move."

"We can't keep everyone still forever, Scarlett," I said.

Scarlett bit her red lip. "How good are you at acting, James?"

"I got a C- in high school drama if that tells you anything," I responded.

"Well, good for you I got an A," she said. "Just try to follow my lead." Scarlett started to cough. At first I thought that she just needed her inhaler but once I caught the glimmer in her eyes, I got the hint.

She started to cough harder and harder, and soon started to get concerned glances from the twelve girls on the dance floor. Scarlett took in heaving breaths and stood up in a hurry. She had their attention now. Scarlett clutched her flat stomach, making it seem that her corset was suffocating her. "Someone help her!" I yelled as realistically as I could. Truth be told, it was very convincing because the white thought in the back of my head kept wondering; what if this really happened to her?

Guilt multiplied my a thousand when Scarlett clutched the table-cloth and fell to the floor, pretending to have fainted. I should have attempted to catch her in some way. Just remember, C-. Scarlett lie on the ground with her eyes closed, she was even holding her breath to keep her chest from moving. "Is there a doctor in the room?" I shouted as I knelt beside her. "I don't think she's breathing!"

My heart sank when the man in green called out. "I am a doctor," he called in one of the thickest German accents I have ever heard. He approached smoothly like a snake. He was in his 30s and his face showed it. His dusty blond hair was cut shorter and he was not cleanly shaved. The man's beady eyes were framed with very tiny wrinkles, but somehow he looked respectable. "Please, sir, stand aside," he said. His accent made me shiver. Creepy German man and creepy German fairy-tale murders, I was beginning to see Scarlett's point.

I hesitated moving away from Scarlett. If I moved away, he could strike her and there would be nothing I could do to help. But I trusted her. We are talking about the girl who shot a real arrow at my head the first time I stepped foot in her house. I stood up and took a look to the woman in green. She had taken her partner's cane and moved closer to one of the older dancing-girls. "My, dear, you look awful. Don't worry, he will make her feel better," she said. The woman had a matching German accent and looked the exact same age as the man.

The strange man turned Scarlett's head and took her pulse. How long could she hold her breath like this. Finally, he took a small pocket knife out of his jacket pocket. I tensed and moved near. But he rolled Scarlett on her side and unzipped the zipper on the side of the black dress. He than took the blade and sliced the corset. Scarlett's lungs filled with air and she gasped for breath. The crowd clapped for the man.

Scarlett sat up and re-zipped her dress up. I pulled her to her feet and we stared at the German man tensely. "Thank-you, sir. You just saved my life," said Scarlett slowly.

An evil smile carved his face and wrinkles around his eyes deepened. He still had the knife out. "A penny saved is a penny earned." The crowd watched as with those words, the man drew back his arm and threw the knife at a dancer. It hit her right between the eyes and she fell over dead.

The sisters screamed, the audience screamed, even Scarlett screamed. People started to race around like chickens around the room to the doors. The woman in green had uncapped the cane like a pen, revealing a long blade. She stabbed the dancer next to her in the chest. With all the screaming and dashing, Scarlett and I could not get to the dancers' aid. The German couple did a dance themselves, twirling and slashing, twirling and slashing, the girls dropped like flies. Scarlett took something that was strapped to her thigh under the gown.

"Is that a bloody sling-shot?" I yelled. Scarlett didn't answer. She acted quickly and grabbed two blue pebbles out of the flower vases on the tables. She loaded them both in the leather strap and pulled it back. She released, and the two little rocks went flying at top speed. The first smacked the man in the left ear. I noticed as it started to bleed, but it didn't stop him. The second flew but the woman swung around and deflected it off the long blade. It was like a scene in an action movie.

"I need a gun!" I yelled. I ran to the edge of the room where a security guard lie unconscious after being smacked by a screaming woman. I took the gun off his belt and made sure it was loaded. Scarlett continued to shot pebbles with the best aim I had ever seen. But she hasn't seen mine yet. I held up the gun and took a single shot. The bullet landed right where I wanted to, in the back of the knee of the man. He yelp in pain and fell to the floor. Blood pouring out of his leg and trickling off his face from where the rocks had hit him. The woman sighed with annoyance.

"You are a damn dead weight!" she hissed. She rushed to his side and pulled him.

"Finished the job!" he yelled in her ear. He looked at the four young girls, holding each other and crying.

"I think we made our damn point!"

"James!" Scarlett yelled. "Stop them!" I checked the gun, jammed. I dropped the fire arm and ran for it. I could catch them.

The woman turned and looked Scarlett dead in the eye and smiled. "Until next time, Holmes." She then took three little black balls out of her dress. She threw them on the floor and the exploded with a thick cloud of smoke. I flung myself into the fog, but nothing came my way. My eyes stung and my throat clogged up. The murders had vanished.


	13. Chapter 13

The police arrived in a flashing furry once the dust had cleared. They wrapped bright orange shock blankets around the four surviving girls. The oldest being about 15 years old at max. They sobbed uncontrollably as their eight sisters, their own blood, were being carried away in slick, black body bags. One paramedic wouldn't leave me alone. She kept checking we over for cuts, scrapes, or gas damage in my eyes. Between constant check-ups, I desperately searched for Scarlett.

"Excuse me," I tried to ask the medic. "Have you seen a woman; black dress, black hair, really red lips, and she's about this tall?" I held up my hand about 5 feet and 10 inches off the ground about four inches shorter than me.

"I'm afraid I haven't, sweetie. Now, stop wiggling!" she scolded. I looked across the floor to see Donavan talking to two other men. I pushed away the woman and made a bee-line towards her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" was the only greeting I got from her.

"Where's Scarlett?" was the greeting I shot back.

"I didn't know you were here, let alone Scarlett! This could make you a suspect!" she shouted.

"Oh, cut the crap!" I snapped. "I was a witness! That. Is. It! I am tired of you thinking every single Holmes and every single Watson in London is the first suspect to every murder! I saw with my own two damn eyes a couple slaughter those innocent dancers and the only reason that those four are alive because Scarlett and I were here tonight! Deduction is the single most brilliant thing I have ever seen in my life and we can save more people together than you could ever save in whole damn career. So I suggest you tell me where my partner is, or so help me God I will never tell you what I know." This was it, I was going to get arrested.

Donavan just bite her lip and looked down. "Sherlock Holmes was a hero and he saved many lives. There is no doubt in my mind that his daughter could do the same thing. But you have to look at what you are getting yourself into, boy. Being paired up with her cuts your life in half, stay around Holmes for do long doing jobs like this, let me tell you, you will not die peacefully in your sleep. She probably went home, they do that."

I stared at her in disbelief. Donavan actually believe that we cold solve this case. "Thank-you." I turned to leave but Donavan called after me.

She quickly trotted up close to me and whispered; "If you find them, you have my permission to kill them. Just make sure to make it look like an accident."

I left her standing in the same place. Rain pounded the streets and roof tops as I called for a cab. I told the old cabbie to drive as fast as he could without getting us killed. When we finally pulled up on the curb of 221B I was Scarlett. She sat on the front steps still in her evening dress with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. I noticed that she was shaking, for the rain had soaked her to the bone.

I approached her slowly and sat down next to her in the rain. Scarlett sniffed, she was crying. This was first time I had actually seen the tears spill over and I didn't like it.

"What's going to happen to those girls, James?" she asked after about ten minutes. I couldn't answer right away.

"I'm sure that they will go to wonderful homes and good people will make sure good people take care of them." Sucky answer, I know. After doing research on the troop a few nights ago we discovered that their parents had died in a plane crash and they all lived together with the oldest sister who was in her mid-twenties. With a legal guardian, I really wasn't sure what was going to happen to those girls.

"I should have been able to save them-" whispered Scarlett.

"Shut-up," I exclaimed as nicely as I could. I took off my jacket and put it around her bare, wet shoulders. "We can't save everybody, Scarlett. We didn't know their plan, so how were we supposed to stop it?"

"I should have seen it coming."

"You were playing dead, you couldn't have seen it without him killing you. If anything I'm sorry I let that bastard anywhere near you."

"He wouldn't have killed me, James. The knew who I was from the minute they laid eyes on me." We were quiet for a moment. The rain water had drenched my button-up and my hair lie flatten on my head. I looked back at Scarlett and recognized the scene. The rain, the stoop, the sad glare into the distance; it was just like the picture of her younger self, except for the dress. "I never knew what he was doing to me," she said.

"What? Who?"

"My father." Scarlett turned her head to look up at me. "He managed to work deduction in everything I did growing up. I never even knew. I think he was training me for this."

"How old were you?" it was a tender subject but my curiosity got the better of me.

"It was a few months after I had turned three," Scarlett answered. "I couldn't believe he was gone. My mind wouldn't process it. Every night leading up to my third year, when I had a nightmare I would walk into his room and get under the covers with him. My dad would hold me close while I lie on his chest, just listening to the beating of his heart. His heart proved to me that he was real, that he would always be there. I remember having a terrible nightmare. The worst one in my life, and when I went to his room and climb under the covers, he wasn't there, James. He wasn't there." She had started to cry again. I put my arms around her, and stroked her hair. She breathed in deeply.

"You're real," she said then Scarlett smiled. "And a damn-good shot, I might add. Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

"Well, when daddy's an ex-army doctor, you tend to log in some hours in the shooting range." I laughed. "I was seven, I think, when my father first took me. That Christmas, I got my very first pistol."

"Most normal children want a bike, you know," Scarlett snorted.

"We are not normal, Scarlett," I said solidly.

"Damn straight."

"So why are we sitting out here again?"

"I can't exactly keep a key in my bra," Scarlett said sarcastically. "Do you have one?"


	14. Chapter 14

Days passed slowly as I watched Scarlett pace the length of the flat. We had pulled any clues and statements together; one that killers were brother and sister, twins for that matter, and two, which we had both seen them before. Scarlett spent all of her time, talking to herself and rummaging through what she told me were her father's old notebooks and journals. I tried to help, to do what I could, but really there was nothing I could do without Scarlett's aid.

Once night, we sat in the living room. Scarlett playing her violin while I looked for the next murder story. "According to this, the next murder is, 'The Red Cap' which is 'Little Red Riding Hood.' That doesn't make sense."

Scarlett stopped playing and looked at me. Her eyes danced in the light of the fire. "How so?"

"Well, in the story, a wolf eats the grandmother and girl, and it's the woodsman who cuts open the wolf and frees the girl."

"Yes," Scarlett agreed.

"It's a wild animal that eats Red, and she doesn't die. What could the killers possibly to do play off this story?"

"They're training a dog to attack anyone in red, most likely. I could smell the scent of dog all over the man while in was hunched over me."

"So are they just going to pick a random victim like they did with the first two?"

"No, they have someone pegged."

"Who?"

"No one important," she said picking her instrument and playing again.

"What the hell do you mean by that? We can't let them kill a little girl!" I protested. Scarlett didn't respond; she just glided the bow across the strings without saying a word. Just then, the buzzer on the front door rang. "Who could that be this late?" I went to stand up but Scarlett motioned me back down.

"It's for me," she said and walked down the stairs. I heard the door open and close. Scarlett came back up the stairs with a large cardboard box. "I've been waiting for this for a long time."

"What is it?" I asked somewhat suspiciously.

"Good-night, James," said Scarlett. She took off down the hall with the box and locked herself in her room. If this had happened to me a few months ago, it would have struck me as incredibly rude but now it was just Scarlett. I have also noticed that she has grown so much smarter in the time I have known her. Her deductions have gotten faster and more accurate. And not to brag but, I feel as though I have grown smarter as well. I saw things differently when I walked with her around London. I couldn't pass by people with looking at them first. Everyone was an ally and everybody was an enemy.

I shook my head, closed the book of fairy tales and went to bed. I had trouble sleeping that night. In fact, I didn't at all. I lie under the covers with head covered by a pillow.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps going down the hallway. Thankfully, they were ones I recognized as Scarlett's boots. I looked at my alarm clock; half past one. Where was she going at this hour? Then, I heard the front door open and close. I waited, thinking she come right back in. Nothing. I got out of bed and went into the living room. Scarlett's inhaler lie forgotten on the end table.

Two o' clock. I panicked. I grabbed my jacket and fled out the door. I yelled her name in the darkness of the city; "Scarlett? Scarlett? Scarlett!"


	15. Chapter 15

_Present Day._

John Watson walked briskly through the empty park with his coat collar turned up. His right hand gripped tightly to the envelope in his jacket pocket. Even though he could see his own breath, sweat beaded down his forehead. The call he had gotten for his old friend had been broad but specific at the same time. _Meet me in the park, under the tree. Bring it._

John stopped under what he had always called the "Twisted Tree." It's long, chestnut branches reached high into the sky and twisted around each other like ribbons. This is where he shared his first date and kiss with Mary, where he picnicked with his wife and son with James was a boy, and the last place he saw Molly. John sat down on the bench and waited.

From out of the fog, Molly Hooper made a bee-line to the tree. John stood up to greet her, but it was hard to smile. "Molly, it's been a while."

"Yes, it has, John." She flung her arms around John's neck and hugged him. She pulled back and looked into his old wrinkled eyes. "Did you bring it?"

John pulled the aged letter out his pocket and held it up. Molly then pulled an identical letter out of her own coat pocket. Each envelope had their names written on the front in blue swirling letters.

"How is she, Molly?" asked John suddenly, pulling the letter down.

"Oh, John, she's beautiful. If only you could see, Scarlett. She is defiantly, Sherlock's daughter," Molly mused. "Here I brought a picture." She handed him a small photo out of her shoulder bag. John took it greedily. In the picture was Scarlett, young and pretty as ever. She stood by the very same tree, he stood by today. Her black, hair puffed in prefect little coils, he lips bright shining red. John took a deep breath.

"My little girl's grown up," said John handing the photo back. "No wonder my son is all up on her."

"Keep the photo," said Molly. "You deserve it after all these years." John managed to smile as he put the glossy picture in his wallet.

"So, let's talk about why were here," said John somberly. "What to the instructions say to do?"

"You should know, you read them, I'm assuming."

"I do know, but just say it so I don't feel like a nut."

"Mine said to meet here on Scarlett's 21st birthday, which is today. Come to think of it, I'm pretty surprised you remembered."

John waved the envelope. "I've read this letter every night for the past eighteen years, you think I would remember. So what? On the count to three we read them together?"

"Sounds good to me," confirmed Molly.

There were two letters squeezed into their envelopes. Both were written on the same kind of paper and looked the same. The only difference was one had the number one on the outside and the second had a number two. Eighteen years ago, Molly Hooper and John Watson had gotten the notes. The first letter was rather simple. Stating that even though the timing was strange but this was what had to be done and that the reader will go to the 'Twisted Tree' on this very date to read the second letter.

"1...2...3." Molly and John took the letter with the two written on it and read out loud their voices in unison.

"'He's dead. This time of real. But his men are following me, they were ordered a long time ago to hunt me down. I don't want to do this, but I've put her in danger for too long. I have to go into hiding until I am certain that these men will never come near my Scarlett ever again. I never wanted to hurt her like this. But don't you dare think I have completely abandoned my daughter; I've been watching her closely for the past few months and I plan to continue until I die. I want to come home. I want to come home to you John, Molly, Mrs. Hudson. Please watch out her. Please.

"Sincerely, S. Holmes."


End file.
